Amria
by TwinEnigma
Summary: Robin likes to look out for the people around him. It's simply a part of his nature, as surely as flying. Even if he has to use things that aren't exactly meant for him to know. One-shot.


**Amria**

_by TwinEnigma_

_AN: originally done as a response to a prompt the YJ-Anon-Meme that specifically requested Robin using a spell to save his team, in the stereotypical vein of associating Romani (aka Gypsy) people with the use of spells.  
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_Please see end author's notes for my additional thoughts on answering a stereotype prompt.  
_

_Standard Disclaimer applies - I'm not DC, I don't own Young Justice or anyone therein._

* * *

Robin likes to look out for the people around him. It's simply a part of his nature, as surely as flying. He was once of the people and, though he was forced to leave them to journey on without him, he is still one of the people at his heart. There, everyone had each other's backs and here, it is much the same, so he knows he must do all that he can, even things that aren't allowed for boys to know.

Dick was small and slight as a child and he had good ears, long before he knew he could turn them to fighting cruel _gaje_. He heard many things, things that Baba intended for her granddaughters, and when she caught him, he always lied and said he had heard nothing. She would scold him something fierce and his parents would deny him his favorite comic books, things worn ragged by affection, but it did not matter then. He kept the secrets as Dick and, as Robin, he knows them still.

Bruce was the first person he used these things on. In quiet and absolute secrecy, he'd stolen away the candles and whispered what he'd learned. There were things out there that the wuzho idiot gaje who'd taken him in would have fallen prey to and Dick brought with him to the Wayne house his own enemies, enemies of the people. Only later, when he learned the truth, did he dare to recast them, stronger still, for Batman's enemies were more numerous and vicious, and Bruce needed all the basht he could get.

Later on, little by little, the number of times he used these things grew with each hero and friend he met. He is one of the people and, though they are not, his friends and teammates have become his people, too. Sometimes, when he thinks about it, he can see that in another time they would not have been gaje, that they all would have had their spots and the people would know them as family. It is a comforting thought and makes him feel a little less guilty about referring to them as such when he works his intent.

Robin does not tell them what he is doing, nor when he plans to do it. He does not tell them why he collects Wolfy's tooth when the super-sized canid loses it, nor why he later returns it to Superboy on a nigh unbreakable chain. He does not explain any of the spent candlewax in his room, nor what he whispers in the darkness, far from the hearing of all. The part of his mind that is secrets and shadows, concealed by the bright glowing tents he once called home, hisses at M'gann to keep her distance. Only Zatanna knows a little of his secrets, but that is because she would be a drabarni in his world, and she is steeped in secrets far deeper and bloodier than his own stolen and limited knowledge.

* * *

Secrecy is key to what he knows. It's never meant for others to know what he's doing when he uses this, but he is left with no choice tonight. Their opponent is a mahrime magician, a smart one, and knew how to shut them down, starting with Zatanna and moving all the way through their ranks. It is doubly unfortunate that Superboy shares Superman's weakness to magic.

"Don't panic," he thinks, broadcasting it across the mental link between them. He then withdraws, willing all that is himself to scarper into the tent that denotes the boundaries of self no gaje may cross, and closing the connection. Only now, with his thoughts isolated completely and his intent blind to others, does he proceed, slicing his finger on one of his shuriken, and muttering an oath he knows from the time before, an oath calling for justice to be paid and a wrong committed against the people to be righted.

He is not homo magi like Zatanna, but he is of the people, and his will is strong, his anger righteous, and Saint Michael has swift feet. The results are near immediate and violent.

"What have you done?" Zatanna asks him in horror, when it is all over. "Do you even understand what you did? You don't use that kind of thing, ever!"

"It's a thing I heard as a kid! I didn't think it would really work," he lies.

She doesn't look like she believes him, but the Justice League has started to arrive and there is no chance for her to continue pressing the issue. One day, she'll understand, he thinks, but not today. For now, he'll do as he must to keep them all safe.

And Robin never feels guilty about bringing justice to those who deserve it.

* * *

It is only a little while before Zatara approaches him. Robin isn't surprised when it happens – he's been expecting it. With the way the magician's daughter had reacted, it didn't take a great detective to figure out that she'd tell someone.

"May I have a word with you, young Robin?" Zatara asks politely. "In private, if I may?"

Kaldur watches him warily out of the corner of his eye and Robin sighs, discreetly giving a hand signal that things are ok. He then follows the magician to a smaller conference room, one that's gone generally unused.

"I understand you cast a spell on the mission," Zatara says, without preamble, "A curse, to be specific."

"It was stupid, just some charm I heard as a kid," Robin tells him and hopes it will suffice as it had before.

Zatara frowns and he suddenly looks exactly like Baba before she'd box his ears. "Don't lie, Robin. You insult me. The only way a curse like that will work is if you _want_ them to suffer."

Robin looks down.

"I know this curse, I've seen what it can do," Zatara says, deadly serious. "You were very lucky you didn't kill someone, little chavo."

At that, Robin's head jerks up and he pales, his hands instinctively moving to make sure his mask is still on. Did the gaje know who he was? Was he one of the safe ones, the ones Batman had already made aware of their secret identities?

"Don't look so shocked, boy," Zatara scoffs. "I've been around a long, long time, and I can recognize Romani magic when I see it. There aren't many people that use wolf teeth in protective charms anymore."

Robin lowers his head again, clenching his hands into fists. "What do you want? An apology? Because I'm _not_ sorry. I saved everyone's lives!"

"And yet, you had the potential to put them in even greater danger," Zatara counters icily. "There is a reason these things were never meant for your hands. They taint everything, twist justice into vengeance, and tend to come back in some way to their caster. No, you were very lucky this time."

Zatara then stands, brushing an invisible speck of lint off his suitcoat, and holds up his hand, extending one finger. "Keep your protection spells, little boy. They are of no trouble to anyone. But that curse? That, you must promise to never use again. I mean it, boy! Should you ever do something like that again, I will have words with your mentor, as I am sure he is _not_ aware of your extracurricular hobby."

It's not an idle threat.

"I'm still not sorry," Robin says quietly.

Zatara looks over his shoulder at him as he approaches the doorway and pauses. "You saved them. That is the only reason I'm giving you a warning. Next time, I will not be so kind. Remember that, Robin."

He does.

* * *

_AN: Robin knows Parlari in the core comics continuity, which is the mishmash circus slang and incorporates Rom. I've tried to maintain the breaks the way I posted them originally._

_As a note, this wasn't a particularly easy one-shot to write. It demanded the use of a stereotype. I picked it up because I figured I, as a solo practitioner Wiccan and someone who does their homework on these things, I stood the best shot of handling both aspects with the modicum of respect they deserve. Added, some of the theory and general forms of modern Wicca are similar to Romani magic and superstitious belief in that the strength of your intentions forms the backbone of it, although the religious aspects differ (Hence why Robin points out that Saint Michael has swift feet). __The only problem is that in this universe, magic works. And Robin used his own blood when he invoked Saint Michael, which is like psychic rocket fuel in any magic, and coupled with his intense desire to make the villain suffer, he gets results._

_I tried to very much keep it between the lines that Robin does "cast" these charms as part of the superstition that it will keep people he cares about safe and, as his superhero circle of friends grows, he tries to justify using his supersitions to protect them with the logic that their powers would have guaranteed they'd have acts in the circus. Part of the thing is that Dick is still, in many ways, a child and he both believes in lucky magic and doesn't believe in the consequences of it. I've also tried to be very clear that this is all stuff that wasn't meant for Dick to overhear, let alone use. He's essentially mucking with stuff he doesn't understand, lacking the background and formal teaching that girls studying these traditions would know._

_Anyway, I tried to handle it as best I could.  
_


End file.
